


Inte Din Far

by joaniedark



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Anonymous Sex, Consensual Sex, Father-Son Relationship, Incest, M/M, No Smut, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joaniedark/pseuds/joaniedark
Summary: Snufkin didn't know he had a father until recently, and he's been very interested in meeting him ever since. However, when a multi-family reunion results in him recognizing The Joxter from an illicit anonymous encounter the prior winter.





	Inte Din Far

When Snufkin saw The Joxter walk in the door of Moominhouse, the world stopped.

 

Moominpapa had been regaling the extended troll youth conglomerate with details from his memoirs he had been writing, and they had been astounding. Being a young man of the world himself, Snufkin was certain there was some degree of exaggeration to the tails, but he was more than happy to listen to a good tall tale. The fact that his long-lost father played a critical role in the story was, of course, a huge boon towards his interest. Snufkin prided himself on his independence, but much as he always returned to Moominvalley in the spring, he had the yearning to return to his family roots as well. He had already known, of course, that the Mymble was his mother—he had met her in passing once or twice when she remembered to check up on how her oldest daughters were doing, and had actually asked after Snufkin’s father the first time she saw him. Apparently, the box Snufkin had been found in had actually been a package sent to The Joxter’s last known address. Of course, his father had moved on, as Mumriks are wont to do.

The stories that Moominpapa were telling were absolutely enrapturing. Snufkin was thrilled to find out that he inherited his sense of anarchistic justice from his father, and hung on to every word that was detailed about the man. Oh, how the longing in his heart to reconnect with the man swelled in his chest. His pupils blew out in interest and pride whenever the older troll mentioned The Joxter, which had made Moomin laugh quietly and squeeze his hand.

“Wouldn’t it be quite the thing if they all came in at the end of the story?” Moomin whispered over while his father was distracted by Sniff asking a long string of questions about The Muddler. The sparkle in Moomin’s eye should have told Snufkin that he  _ knew something _ , but he wrote it off as innocent enthusiasm.

So when Moominpapa’s story ended, the knocking at the door was a surprise. The incoming flood of characters from the long story was alarming, to say the least, but absolutely thrilling. Through the crowd, Snufkin recognized a hat similar to his own, and his heart skipped a beat. He gently greeted and laughed with the flood of half-siblings, wading through to see the man whom he had spent the last several hours racking up excitement to see.

Joxter turned his head, making eye contact with Snufkin, and almost dropped the pipe he had been snuffing out. His feline pupils narrowed into small slits and Snufkin could see the light fur on his neck and paws standing on end. Snufkin himself was torn between worry the mumrik would bolt, and the fear that he would instead.

The moment passed quickly, though, and soon the two were wrapped in a tight embrace. Joxter smelled of fresh earth and rich tobacco and mint, a warm scent that made him relax slightly.

“It is so good to meet you, my boy,” Joxter said, his all-too-familiar voice higher and lighter than Snufkin had imagined in Moominpapa’s story. 

“And you too, papa,” Snufkin said, feeling the older mumrik momentarily tense at the words. “I’ve wanted to finally see you for years.”

“We’ll talk about… _ this _ later,” Joxter whispered in Snufkin’s ear, quiet enough no one could hear. Snufkin gave a tiny nod against Joxter’s shoulder, pulling away with a half-fake smile.

“ _ Later, _ ” he mouthed back. He glanced out the door to the huge spread of tables and chairs that Moominmama had sneakily set up outside for dinner during Moominpapa’s story, and smiled. Dinner, dinner would distract from this whole predicament. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No one knew where Snufkin went in the winter time, when he went South. In all truth, Snufkin often just wandered to nowhere in particular, just travelling as the winds took him. Quite often he’d find him venturing far enough that he pierced through the Veil of All Things, to where the plants and stones suddenly grew larger, to the realms where humans had set up their towns and cities.

Snufkin was just a little mumrik at around 15 inches high, so he couldn’t exactly liberate a human park like a hemulen one. Didn’t stop him from breaking and entering though; in fact, his small stature versus a human made it easy for the little troll to slip through the bars of the botanical garden that he found last winter on his travels. It was a very well-kept garden; while many plants lay in dormant beauty, the park keepers had obviously taken great care in maintaining seasonal displays. There were strange flowers still blooming that Snufkin had never seen before, creeping vines and root vegetables and the most fascinating glass structure that was sweltering like a midsummer bonfire.

He was taking off his heavy green coat at the heat of the place when he noticed movement from behind some long grasses. He folded the coat and placed it next to a cactus with noticeable bright magenta blooms, not wanting to forget it after this investigation. Perhaps some beast had also snuck into this place. He wasn’t the hungriest at the moment, but there was always benefit in catching a source of trail rations when he could.

Creeping around the side of the grasses, he was surprised to see a full-blooded mumrik playing with a half-dead mouse that had been unfortunate enough to cross his path. The mumrik seemed to be a man, dressed unseasonably thin linen with dark, messy hair. He had a nice, deep orange muzzle and murky blue-green eyes that reminded Snufkin of standing pools and summer fishing. The mumrik looked up, mouse hanging by it’s tail from his mouth, and he smiled.

A few gruesome seconds later, the mumrik had consumed the poor creature and was extending his hand to Snufkin to shake. Snufkin noted that the man was definitely older than him, crow’s feet lining his smiling eyes and the tinge of grey in his whiskers. The two did not exchange their typical titles—they were simply The Winter Mumrik in each other’s lives, after all. A fun dalliance in the midst of the winter cold.

And it was an  _ enjoyable _ dalliance, to be sure. The other mumrik told him the names of some of the strange plants, they spoke of the peculiar nature of the mountain-high human race, they caught some other small beasts (though Snufkin was far more couth in his killing and packing away of food to cook properly). Eventually, as occasionally happened in the life of a wandering and free soul, Snufkin followed the older mumrik to a bed of blessedly still-soft lamb’s ear and enjoyed a nice, anonymous roll in the leaves. They parted ways with the mumrik batting at Snufkin’s short tail he normally kept hidden away under his coat, commenting that mymble-tails were one of the best traits that a person could have before he skittered off back outside the iron bars of the gardens. Snufkin got up, brushing himself off and straightening his outerwear, and squeezed out in the direction of his camp. Winter adventures were always such an interesting thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joxter was sat next to Snufkin and across from The Mymble at the long tables, which Snufkin wasn’t at all surprised by. The meal was as pleasant as it could be, the huge crowd yelling joyously across at one another, catching up on years of missed stories and experiences. Snufkin shivered a few times at the feeling of Joxter stroking his tail, which was hanging out the back of his chair. 

“Your tail-tip is twitching like a cat. Do crowds make you as uncomfortable as they make me?” Joxter asked quietly, leaning over to Snufkin so that the conversation couldn’t be too easily overheard. His face looked gentle and concerned, but his eyes seemed to dart with nervous tension, like he was looking for a way out.

“I think…all people need their space, sometimes.”

“Spoken like a true mumrik,” Joxter said, grey whiskers curling up with his grin. “I think I’ll likely be departing the party before pudding manages to come out. Don’t worry,” he said, putting a reassuring paw on Snufkin’s shoulder, “I’ll still be around. I think I’ll stick out the greater portion of the summer in the valley.” 

True to his word, when Moominmama was serving up  _ vispipurro _ to the partygoers, Joxter had slipped away in true feline fashion. Snufkin himself had barely noticed his father’s departure, except for the gentle brush of fingertips on his arm as he walked away. Snufkin felt instantly exhausted from the day, the people, the realizations. He picked at his dessert and answered passing questions from The Mymble with the same level of distraction she had from the dozens of pups pulling at her dress and tail. He was the second to leave the party, giving all the socially expected smiles and apologies, ruffling Moomin’s fur reassuringly as he passed him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Moomin asked, and Snufkin shook his head. 

“I’m tired, Moomin. If you want, I can see you after breakfast tomorrow? We can go hill-climbing, perhaps.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Moomin said, beaming. “I’ll see you bright and early. Goodnight, Snufkin!”

“Goodnight, Moomin.” Snufkin admitted he felt slightly bad leaving like this; he had tried to get better about his ability to stay with people and not simply run off, solely because it upset his dear friend. But now…now he needed solitude. Isolation. Some silence so he could  _ think _ .

The walk back to his campsite wasn’t far, and he could still hear the distant cacophony of voices. He debated for a moment setting a fire and playing a few songs before retiring to calm his nerves, but as soon as he approached his fire pit he felt the exhaustion wash over him. No, sleep. Sleep was for the best.

It was dark as Snufkin bumbled into his tent, tripping over something on his bedroll. He tsked quietly, then threw his hat and coat across the tent. He curled up under the blanket, and was about to close his eyes when he heard something shift and groan behind him.

“Fuck,” a male voice grumbled. Snufkin instantly flipped over, about ready to jump up and fight a villain, only to find his father lounging on the ground and shoving the discarded hat off his face.

“…Language,” Snufkin said, pulling his blanket back around him and eyeing the older mumrik. “What’s all this then?”

“I didn’t peg you as a stickler for cursing,” Joxter said, pulling Snufkin’s coat on top of him to replace the stolen blanket.

“May I ask what you’re doing in my tent?” he huffed. Joxter chuckled.

“I figured my dear son wouldn’t mind letting his father sleep in his nice, warm tent instead of in a tree branch?” Joxter asked. A beat. “And this seemed like the most private place for us to talk, I suppose.”

Snufkin sighed, shuffling as far to the side of his bedroll as he could manage and raising the edge of the blanket. Joxter slid over with a pleased murr, wriggling onto the edge of the bedroll.

“Thank you,” Joxter said, his face inches from Snufkin’s. He debated whether it was more awkward to lie like this or to roll over so the older mumrik was almost spooning him. He settled for rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling of the tent.

“So. I suppose we’re talking about last winter.”

“Yes. Winter.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,  _ Vintermumriken _ .”  

“I don’t think either of us were, really.” Joxter sighed, his breath warm on Snufkin’s neck. He didn’t want to admit the strange stirring in his gut at that. “Perhaps, if our travels crossed again, maybe. But that was the slightest chance. And not…under these circumstances.”

“It’s terribly awkward, isn’t it?”

“It truly is.” Joxter’s elbow pressed a little into Snufkin’s side as Joxter rubbed his temple. “God. I should have…I mean, it’s not that uncommon to see a mumrik who’s part mymble, I honestly thought you’d be born a mymble who was part mumrik, I didn’t…”

“You don’t need to rip yourself apart because you didn’t stop to think a random mumrik you met might be your long-lost grown adult son,” Snufkin said, his eyeroll lost in the dark. “Besides, how long have you known I existed?”

“Honestly, perhaps two winters.” Joxter dropped his hand back to his side, jerking his fingers away when they accidentally landed on Snufkin’s thigh. “I had meant to come here last summer when I heard that you spent the hot months nesting near my old friend Moomin’s home, but life got in the way until now.”

“I had never heard your formal title until Moominpapa started talking about that portion of his memoirs a month or two ago,” Snufkin said with a little smile. 

“We’re quite the put-together family, aren’t we?”

“Honestly, you were a stranger in the winter, and you’re practically a stranger now.”

A silence fell over the two of them for a minute, long and cloying. Finally, Snufkin spoke.

“Did you enjoy the night I met you in the gardens?”

Joxter laughed. “Of course I did. I would take it back now, if I could, knowing what I know. But…”

“If you never knew, what then? If life was too busy for you to come to Moominvalley, now or ever?”

Joxter thought about it for a moment.

“Life is made up of so many instances, and I prefer as many of those instances be pleasant and easy-going as possible. I’ve made my life chasing fun and happiness and pleasure. So, I suppose I would not take it back, or regret. If I didn’t know.”

“If you met a mumrik or mymble you had an affair with once again in passing, how would you react to seeing them again?”

“I think I know what you’re—”

“Please,   _ Vintermumriken _ . Answer, if you could.” Snufkin turned his head to stare into Joxter’s eyes, eliciting a sigh.

“It’s happened before, I suppose. And things picked up exactly as they had before. Two near-strangers having an adventure, perhaps sleeping together again should that tickle our mutual fancy.” He scrunched up his brow. “Just two ships passing in the night, really.”

“I lived my whole life without a papa,” Snufkin mused into the dark. “As soon as I could fish for myself and start a fire, I was out of the foundling house and running about on my own. I wondered, certainly, but family was just a passing thought occasionally thought about in the quiet moments.” He rolled over, his back to Joxter’s chest. Before Joxter could protest, he pulled the older mumrik’s arm over his waist. “I think, perhaps, it can stay a passing thought.” 

Joxter almost replied, but instead scooted in fully onto the bedroll, pressing his body up against Snufkin’s. This was…bizarre, to be sure. But honestly, they were two grown men who possibly shared a little blood. It wasn’t exactly like they were an actual family. Perhaps this was something workable. Passing ships.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snufkin woke up with something hard pressing against the small of his back.

His first instinct was to jump up and hiss, someone was in his tent! Someone was holding him down!  _ Predator! _

He came to his senses as sleep left him, however. Joxter.  _ Vintermumriken _ . Whatever he was calling him. He’s here, he was allowed to stay, everything is fine. He sighed, then felt a second wave of mixed emotions as he thought about the thing stabbing him in the back.  _ Oh. _ The annoyance at the touch gave way to nerves and embarrassment with a hint of arousal. Urging his insides to calm down, he settled back down, meshing his body more comfortably into Joxter’s. He heard a small, quiet moan from the older mumrik and felt a little twitch from his hips against his rump, but glancing over his shoulder showed that Joxter was still sound asleep. He stared at the tent wall, sunlight starting to seep in. He couldn’t stay in bed too terribly long, but it was a novelty to have someone’s body fit perfectly against his, warm and heavy and comfortable. Despite the entire bizarre, somewhat taboo situation, Snufkin couldn’t help wanting it to last a little longer. 

Joxter buried his face into Snufkin’s shoulder and made some muffled noises. Snufkin started slightly when he felt the half-hearted grinding of the unconscious man’s bulge against his rump. It was honestly an expected side-effect of deciding to be the little spoon when waking up to one’s bedmate’s morning wood, to be fair. It was far from unpleasant, though a tiny lingering bit of societal guilt still gnawed at him for enjoying it. He gave a tentative grind back, and Joxter’s eyes fluttered open. He tried to scuttle backwards with a stunted yowl, but Snufkin whipped a hand behind him to grab Joxter’s arm. 

“Come back here,” Snufkin mumbled. He released Joxter’s arm and slowly rolled over to face him. “Just a few more minutes.”

“I’m sorry,” Joxter apologized as he crawled over, his cheeks as red as the streak of fur on his snout. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Snufkin said as he watched Joxter try to crawl under the blanket while still covering up his crotch in embarrassment.

“It was pretty inappro—" Joxter was silenced by Snufkin’s finger on his lips.

“You sound like a hemulen citing things that aren’t OK to do.”

“I would  _ never _ ,” Joxter chirped with fake offense, a smile creeping up on his still-scarlet face.

“You definitely do, Vinmumrik.” Joxter snorted.

“That’s an interesting nickname.”

“Next thing I know, you’ll be hanging a sign around my neck saying ‘No touching allowed,’ won’t you?” Snufkin asked, moving Joxter’s hand to his hip. The chitter that came from Joxter’s throat was utterly inhuman. Snufkin smirked. “We’re just two mumriks, remember? If Moominpapa hadn’t connected the dots between us, we wouldn’t ever have known we’re related. It is a nothing.”

“A nothing. Right. I didn’t raise you, I barely know you. Not your father.”

“Certainly not here. Now, maybe out in the valley, but not in here.”

“Right, simply two mumriks, enjoying a lie-in before facing the summer sun.” Joxter’s paw started to crawl up under Snufkin’s shirt. The younger mumrik’s eyes narrowed in mischievous approval.

“Just so.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Moomin waved excitedly as he ran over the bridge towards Snufkin’s camp. His dear friend was crouched over a fire, grilling some freshly-caught fish and humming to himself. Lying on a log behind him was a very disheveled Joxter, looking like he was contemplating a blissful summertime nap to occupy his entire morning.

“Snufkin! Late to rise today, eh? Not really like you,” Moomin said, slowing down and panting slightly. Snufkin looked up from the fire, his eyes a little glazed over. 

“Ah, Moomin! Yes, I ran into The Joxter after dinner and we continued our dinnertime conversation long into the night. My apologies for not being ready to go adventuring yet!” Snufkin yawned and flipped the fish over. “There’s plenty for breakfast if you’re still hungry.

“You’re too kind,” Moomin said, sitting down on a stump. He glanced over at Joxter, who was now stretching, back arched like a cat. “Did your father want to come hiking with us today?”

Joxter bristled and shot a look at Snufkin. Snufkin simply shrugged, absorbed in examining the char on a grayling.

“I think not,” Joxter said, sitting back down. “After breakfast I think I’ll see what trouble I can get into, perhaps find an orchard and help myself to some fresh fruit. I’ll probably return to the tent before nightfall, unless I find myself breaking into an empty house with a nice, soft bed to curl up on.”

Moomin frowned, and looked more upset when Snufkin laughed.

“That doesn’t seem like the nicest thing to do,” Moomin said, taking a fish that Snufkin handed him off the fire. “But I hope you have a nice day anyway.”

“No getting arrested now,  _ papa _ . This one over here suggests very creative punishments to the authorities.” He handed a fish to Joxter with a wink. He swore he saw Snufkin swipe his tongue across his lip. 

“Your  _ old man _ knows how to not get caught,” Joxter said with icicles dangling from the forbidden words. He placed the fish in his teeth and leapt up a nearby tree, disappearing into the leaves. 

“Wow, your dad is impressive!” Moomin said with awe. Snufkin nodded, cutting into his meal and looking up toward the branches wistfully, cheeks ruddy.

“The Joxter definitely lives up to Moominpapa’s stories. I look forward to knowing him better.”

The two ate silently for a little bit. Finally, about halfway through his fish, he brightened up.

“Ah, I figured out what seemed off about you! Your hat is missing. Your hair sure is a mess, do you wear it to cover that up?”

This was going to be an interesting lie to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic kinda presumes that since Moomin is the size of a phonebook, and yet his surroundings are proportional, these guys live on some plane of the feywild parallel to Finland or something? I dunno, man. They're a bunch of tiny troll folk.
> 
> Moominmama made Vispipuuro: Lingonberry porridge :O I debated calling it Klappgröt, since Mumin was Swedish originally, but since they're in Finland kinda-sorta I went with the Finnish name.
> 
> My Swedish is super basic, but thanks to Duolingo I was at least able to make some Titles:  
> Vintermumriken: The Winter Mumrik  
> Vinmumrik: Wine Mumrik, a quality pun  
> Inte Din Far: Not Your Father, or at least my attempt to translate it. Might need a grammar change.
> 
> My last comment is a Fun Fact: While I googled it and Joxaren roughly means "The One What Fiddles Around With Stuff," I had put "Joxaren" into translate and discovered his name means Fuck in Basque. HOORAY!
> 
> Anyway, first thing I've managed to finish in a while. Hope it's appreciated. Should I write more of Snufkin and his relationships? Who knows, I'm not committing. I have enough archive cleaning to do as it is.


End file.
